


Mercury

by CaptainOptimism



Series: Space [3]
Category: Ratched (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Cabaret references!, F/F, Light Angst, and honestly who can blame her, fluff if you squint, idk Mildred just really has a hard time communicating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-02
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:21:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27829645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainOptimism/pseuds/CaptainOptimism
Summary: I urge you: bite me, she’d wanted to say, as Gwendolyn traced her way down her neck. She touched her like Mildred might turn to dust at the weight of the lightest touch, like the stone that had formed around her lungs, her stomach, her heart, over the years might shatter and leave Gwendolyn with a handful of debris.Sign my death with your teeth.
Relationships: Gwendolyn Briggs/Mildred Ratched
Series: Space [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1992571
Comments: 17
Kudos: 63





	Mercury

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Sorry this one took so long. Being alive is exhausting and being an adult WHILE being alive is exhausting-er. But I'm happy I got around to writing this guy! The planet of communication deserved a good story, I think.
> 
> Also, before we really get into it:  
> I did not write the "I urge you: bite me. Sign my death with your teeth." quote. GOD I WISH I DID, but that did not come from my brain. It's from "Stigmata: Escaping Texts" by Hélène Cixous. So thanks Hélène, you gave my gay fanfiction quite the edge.
> 
> Inspirational lyrics from "Mercury" below!  
> \---  
> No one can unring this bell  
> Unsound this alarm, unbreak my heart new  
> God knows, I am dissonance  
> Waiting to be swiftly pulled into tune  
> . . .  
> Yet I know, if I stepped aside  
> Released the controls, you would open my eyes  
> That somehow, all of this mess is just my attempt to know the worth of my life

The day had been long, achingly so.

In the sort of way that made the tiredness that hung low beneath Mildred’s eyes seep into the marrow of her bones. And yet, underneath the weight of exhaustion, Mildred’s anger still managed to overtake her.

She’d been condescended to and ordered around in more ways than she’d previously thought possible. She’d had her intelligence insulted, her competence questioned, and had been physically _handled_ as if she were some stranger who’d snuck into the hospital to unleash chaos.

She’d originally obtained her position that way, _sure,_ but people change. Plans change.

_How long did you say you’ve been doing this, doll?_

_God it takes you females a long time to get things done. Move over, let me try._

_‘Scuse me, darling._

The last sentiment hadn’t been particularly displeasing on its own. The way the man had wrapped the entirety of his hand around her waist and shoved her towards the edge of the stairwell, letting his fingers burn a trail across the small of her back as he made his way past her, though -- that was what really crawled under her skin.

Had she not been so consumed with the duties that managed to take up an astounding 13 consecutive hours on her time card, she might’ve done something about the offenses. There wasn’t the time, however, so now she sat, fingers white knuckle gripping the steering wheel in front of her, thinking about all of the things she _might’ve_ done about it.

She was curious, had been all her life, as to why she seemed to walk around with a target emblazoned on her back. Why men and women alike approached her and eventually stepped on her like she wasn’t the least bit capable of retaliation. 

She’d thirty odd years playing all of the cards that came with her unassuming features -- her hand was empty and she wanted to claim the pot. What was so wrong about Mildred Ratched having a little bit of power?

Her chest felt tight and she wondered if every muscle in her body was simultaneously tensed. She did not want to go into Gwendolyn’s house.

_Their house_ , she heard Gwendolyn’s voice correcting her. Mildred hadn’t quite adjusted to the prospect of having her own house, hadn’t even begun to consider the idea of having her own home.

She did not want to go into _their_ house.

Mildred Ratched knew a lot of things, including the way her tongue seemed to run away from her when this kind of fury rolled through her. Her mouth said things without permission that she couldn’t ask to be forgiven for, sputtered out obscenities and insults like she’d been raised on a goddamn pirate ship.

There wasn’t a single piece of Mildred that wanted to spew that kind of grotesque cynicism in Gwendolyn’s direction.

She sat parked beside the curb, listening to the engine cool and swallowing the scream that threatened to spill out of her. She’d simply walk inside, hurry upstairs with the mumblings of ‘stomach bug going around the hospital’ behind her, and retire to bed. At 6:30.

Easy.

Though of course it hadn’t been easy, not today. Mildred tried to remember if she’d actively spited any deities recently.

Gwendolyn pulled her into an extended greeting the second she’d stepped through the threshold, claiming her waist and her shoulders and her face with her touch. It should’ve been perfect.

She’d asked Mildred for details of her day like she did everyday, and what normally felt like a reminder of home felt like a personal attack.

Mildred thought on her feet as she always did. If she couldn’t avoid talking altogether, she’d distract her mouth otherwise.

The kiss she wrapped Gwendolyn in was rushed and harried, not the way it should’ve been, not the way either of them wanted it to be.

“Slow, sweetheart, I’m not going anywhere,” Gwendolyn pulled away and placed her hands on Mildred’s chest with a gentle, barely there push. It was meant to be an anchor, it felt like a punch.

“Just missed you, is all,” Mildred’s voice gave way to how little she’d wanted to be talking. If there were a way to force her brain to shut down completely, she would’ve taken that route hours ago.

Her blood still ran hot, though Gwendolyn seemed to have a different interpretation of the connotation of that heat than Mildred.

She ducked her head, capturing Mildred’s lips again and relaxing against her form.

Mildred tried in earnest to let the tension of the day go, even as she laid underneath Gwendolyn, hands trying to busy themselves with her blouse, trying to busy themselves with anything.

She wanted so desperately to enjoy herself. She wanted to appreciate Gwendolyn’s patience and tenderness, not resent it. 

_I urge you: bite me_ , she’d wanted to say, as Gwendolyn traced her way down her neck. She touched her like Mildred might turn to dust at the weight of the lightest touch, like the stone that had formed around her lungs, her stomach, her heart, over the years might shatter and leave Gwendolyn with a handful of debris.

_Sign my death with your teeth._

Of course she didn’t, though. So Gwendolyn continued to hold her like she was the most precious thing in the world, and for some indescribable reason Mildred felt ire continue to bloom within her chest. Even if Gwendolyn was focusing on a particularly lovely place just along the curve of her jaw.

“You’re tense.”

“‘m not,” Mildred mumbled, keeping her eyes closed and hand at the nape of Gwendolyn’s neck. If she kept them shut long enough, the problem might go away, might leave her alone.

“You are,” she insisted, lifting her head, brows already knitted with concern. “Is something the matter? Is it work? What can I do to help?”

Each question came slowly, punctuated with a pause in between.

Typically, if Mildred’s body wasn’t already filled to the brim with spite, she would’ve found Gwendolyn’s patience comforting, reassuring. She would’ve huffed out a breath and regaled Gwendolyn with the details of why she happened to be so tense because she knew she could and Gwendolyn would not leave. She’d lighten the load on herself and split it between the two of them to carry because that’s what they’d always done, what they’d always promised to do.

This evening though, Mildred’s body _was_ filled to the brim with spite, and she found Gwendolyn’s line of questioning tedious at best, prying at worst. She felt a pit forming just below her ribs, burning hot and radiating out to her already shaking hands.

“I am not tense! I’d tell you if I were! If I felt as uncomfortable as you seem to think I am, do you think I’d have tolerated us crawling all over each other like teenagers for as long as I did? Just.. leave it alone, Gwendolyn! Can you manage that?”

She hadn’t meant to snap quite so harshly, hadn’t meant to emulate the way she’d been spoken to all day. The words felt bitter as they burst past her lips, and she barely recognized her own voice, drawing out Gwendolyn’s name like that, like it was a curse instead of a prayer.

Admittedly, the anger did seem to dissipate as she spoke, though the pit in her chest travelled lower, settling deep in her stomach as she met Gwendolyn’s suddenly icy gaze.

Her eyes were narrowed, jaw set, face configured in an expression that had _How_ dare _you_ written all over it.

How dare she, indeed.

Gwendolyn stood, shoulders rolled back, head tilted away just so, like so couldn’t bare to look at Mildred. Her eyes seemed to glow in the way that Mildred knew meant tears were imminent, though not a single one fell.

“I do not know where you just went,” her eyes locked onto Mildred’s, pleading with her gaze to stay steady though her voice wasn’t, “but when you have figured it out, I will be in my office.”

Mildred reached for her hand as she turned, watched her march out of the den, physically distancing herself the way she had when Mildred had first told her she loved her. It hurt just the same.

The world was closing in and that only made her angrier.

It was an hour before she was able to move again, before she was able to readjust herself from where she’d been frozen on the sofa and will herself back into reality.

She loathed the pieces of her brain that made her so prone to snapping, though she loathed her hard head more.

It was another ten minutes of Mildred resting her forehead on Gwendolyn’s office door, fist clenched, ready to knock, before she actually connected that fist with the barrier in front of her.

There was a quiet answer, and as she nudged the door open, she felt like a child, an awful feeling.

Gwendolyn hadn’t turned around to face her, but it was clear she was listening. Her pen still moved furiously against the mess of papers in front of her, but she was listening.

“I don’t -- I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air, they hit both women’s ears with a disingenuous twinge.

Deep breath. Try again. Make this right.

Mildred took a step towards the desk at the far end of the room, trying to make herself feel less ridiculous as she stood, uncertain, hands wringing in front of her.

“I didn’t mean... any of that. Earlier.”

It seemed apologies were significantly harder when the weight of a love long sought after hung in the balance.

“Or maybe I did,” _that_ caught Gwendolyn’s attention, “but never for you.”

Mildred held her line of sight steady, giving Gwendolyn permission to look away if she wanted, if she had to.

“I’m sorry I hurt you, that I keep--” Gwendolyn shot her a look of warning, the same way she did when Mildred questioned her own intelligence, “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“I don’t know how to be better, but I want to be. I don’t ever want to see you like that again. I don’t ever want it to be my fault again.” Mildred spoke with the persistence and renewed vigor of someone proclaiming a new year’s resolution at the stroke of midnight.

Gwendolyn’s mouth hadn’t moved, but she felt her features begin to smile. She turned fully, opening her hands up to Mildred her, an invitation out of the cold.

“I wouldn’t have thought you one, but you’re quite the idealist sweetheart,” her voice was quiet as she took Mildred’s hands in her own, watched as she knelt in front of her, curled her face against the side of Gwendolyn’s knee.

Gwendolyn had a half a mind to believe her. If anyone was going to keep a promise like that to Gwendolyn, it would be Mildred.

“I don’t need you to be better.”

Mildred didn’t look up -- she felt she couldn’t.

“I need you to talk to me.”

That was almost worse than needing her to be better.

“Okay.”

“I mean it, Mildred.”

“I know. I mean it, too.”

Gwendolyn’s hands were tangled in Mildred’s hair now, tracing patterns with her fingers that were much too unsteady for her liking. Her chest ached at the feeling of having Mildred in front of her. She wanted so badly to hear what Mildred had to say. All of the ideas she kept tucked away in the back of her head all day, the snarky comments on everyday happenings that she’d taught herself to suppress because she’d figured no one was listening anyway. She had no desire to hear that voice that Mildred had adopted to keep the monsters away. The one she kept poised on the tip of her tongue, always. Gwendolyn wasn’t sure if she could ever learn to brush that voice off, not when it sounded so much like her Mildred.

They stayed like that for a bit, until Mildred shifted, giving into the discomfort of sitting sideways on hardwood.

Gwendolyn paused the way she’d been running her fingers along the back of Mildred’s neck as she shot a glance up at the clock, squeezing Mildred’s shoulder gently.

“Come with me, grab your coat.”

Mildred also checked the time, quirking her brow as Gwendolyn stood. She accepted the hand outstretched in front of her.

“It’s a quarter to nine,” Mildred managed as she tried her damnedest _not_ to look like a deer on a frozen pond as she rose to her feet.

“Hence why I suggested you grab a coat,” Gwendolyn’s quip earned her a gentle smack to the arm, even as she placed a kiss at Mildred’s hairline.

“Not what I meant.”

“I know. I’ll go start the car.” 

The pair drove along the route that had taken them to the oyster bar so many times before, though this time they were alone on the road. The darkness outside seemed to eat the light from Gwendolyn’s headlights, as if to urge them to go back home, go back into the light.

After what felt like a small eternity of silence between passenger and driver, Gwendolyn pulled the car off to the side of the road, onto a small patch of shoulder clearly meant as a stop for sightseers. Though now there weren’t many sights to see.

The beach below them took on a blue grey tone -- the sand looked unfamiliar and even the shallowest bits of the ocean looked as if they plunged thirty feet deep. The empty highway behind them did nothing to ease Mildred’s uneasiness, and the cliffs that surrounded them looked much more imposing in the dark, though she supposed everything did. 

Gwendolyn stepped around to the other side of the car, offering her hand to Mildred and welcoming her into the bitter cold. The combination of the wind and the dark sky and the waves that relentlessly smacked against the shore was dizzying-- it made Mildred feel as if she’d stepped into an unfamiliar world without invitation.

They stood looking out over the cliffside -- Gwendolyn with intention, Mildred without -- for a long minute. Mildred wondered if they were waiting for something. 

“I’m going to scream now.”

Silence. Just the wailing of the wind.

“You’re going to scream.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Makes me feel better.”

Before Mildred had anytime to question any of their exchange, Gwendolyn let out her scream.

It was loud, and seemed to come from Gwendolyn’s chest. Her eyes were shut tight, and the hands at her side seemed to clench harder than her body allowed. It didn’t last long-- ended as soon as the waves below them began to retreat from shore. It took Gwendolyn’s breath away.

She was smiling now, though, and Mildred felt basked in sunlight as Gwendolyn redirected her gaze back to her.

“Would you like to try?” Gwendolyn was slightly exasperated, still grinning wide as she tried to sweep her now unruly hair out of her eyes.

“Why?”

“Might make you feel better.”

Everything was easy like that, with Gwendolyn. There were no hidden motives or secret messages between her words. She just thought it might make Mildred feel better. That’s all there was to it.

“Can you… with me?” Mildred felt lost, out of her depth.

“On three,” Gwendolyn watched the tide as it seemed to reset itself, counting down to the buildup of what was sure to be a monster of a wave.

They screamed in unison, Gwendolyn’s cutting off long before Mildred’s faded away.

The sound felt almost inhuman, definitely unladylike.

It resonated throughout her body, echoing in every corner she’d let it. It felt sharp in her throat, clawing itself out of her like she’d been storing it in her chest for decades. Her eyes fell closed and when they reopened the world around her didn’t feel so dark.

She listened as their voices carried themselves out over the ocean, were absorbed by the water and the air and the clouds and whatever else was unlucky enough to stand in their paths. After a moment there was no sound Mildred heard but the rasp in both of their exhales, no other sound that she cared to hear, anyway.

“I do. Feel better.”

“I’m so glad, darling.”

Mildred shortened the distance between them, wrapping herself up completely in Gwendolyn. She didn’t put up a fight when Gwendolyn pulled the edge of her coat around the two of them, a barrier against the wind, against the world. Mildred took in all of her scent, not bothering to inhale anything but the warmth of morning coffee that seemed to linger on Gwendolyn forever.

They didn’t talk because they didn’t have to, and Mildred felt better.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so first and foremost... what did you all think your feedback means everything to me <3
> 
> Secondly though, the screaming into the void thing was entirely inspired by a rewatch of Cabaret and. God I love Liza Minnelli.
> 
> If you care to indulge in more Cabaret ramblings PLEASE include them in your comments I'd love to discuss (or come hang out with me on tumblr! Find me at generallyoverwhelming !)
> 
> Anywho, happy December! Hope you're all happy, healthy & sane!


End file.
